Cold and uninvited
The 4th of Febuary. Parked on the drippy uninviting, dreary steps of Wood green station, deviding up a soggle ciggerete
infrimth a shivering boyfirend. This Sunday early morning is a commune for the drunken rejects of the world, and this time, we are not the drunkest; in compariosn we are doing quie well. Nervous, unnerved foreigns blank us —a couple smile. We spreading our damp ,wore down limbs all over the stone platefrom, passing the times watching stumbling travellers grapple with the escalator.
I peered down at my keep an eye on we had over two hours left. The wind blew staight threw my clubbing clothes. I cen't hink if i have ever felt woeful and wretched.
Their she was! She shuffles up the steps with the last of her will-power. Her red sweatpants are almost worn through , and her feet are wedged into city stained bunny slippers. On her face you could see the lines that had been worn out by tears.. One of her eyes seemed to have leak and it was clear that she was nearly blind.. Her eyes look like they've seen so much sadness they're forever doomed to apathy.. I looked at her darken visiage and imagine all the thinking she must have been through ; that I am to frozen to move , and I am just is killing time before I go back to my ovely soft warm bed..
She produced her wrinkled, trembling hand.
We look through our pockets and find nothing at all.
The overbearing statoin absorbed her tortured, pitiful frame.
I sign and look around the station for some lkind of amusement. I start to even the sleeping beggar at least they feel at home.. We are pushing reluctant time forward as it digs its heels in at the dusty smells and sounds of old stories, at the sucking of smoke, at our involuntary shivers.
Then suddley the beggar tlady reappears.. Her wrinkled hand, tremberling with old age, had come back.
She carefully placed a pund fifty into my hand and says, " get something warm in ya. God bless you."